Peace That Passeth
by Lambogod
Summary: Far from the stereotypical Hey Arnold story, this one starts out rather normal and evolves into... well, read for yourself.
1. The Weekend

Peace That Passeth... 

Chapter 1: The Weekend 

She was sixteen-years-old. Well, sixteen-years and one-day-old. As usual, she had no big birthday celebration. There was no cake, no presents, no party poppers. There was a friend there, to share what little she had, but that barely made up for the lack. 

She had every right to be bitter. 

"You know, you should really come over for dinner tomorrow. We'd love to have you." 

The girl said nothing in reply, just stared angrily into her mirror, frustrated with her ugly, boyish eyebrows. There was a good deal about her that remained boyish, even in high school. She had secretly hoped she would outgrow the gruffness she possessed in grade school, but to her dismay, it had done nothing but increase. Exponentially. 

"Come on, Helga, it'll be fun! I mean, my mom can bake a cake, and you know my..." 

"Can it." 

Her friend was taken aback, but quickly recovered. She was fairly used to Helga's ways. So she sighed and continued, "Listen, Helga. You're depressed. You're only sixteen, you shouldn't have to be this upset. You should be enjoying life." 

Helga said nothing. Then, just for a change, she continued to say nothing. 

"I'll see you tomorrow then? Seven-ish?" 

Silence. Then a loud snap. Looking down, the girl saw that Helga had just broken a pen in two. 

She sighed. "Look, Helga, I'm just trying to be your friend. But you're making it really hard on me." Helga stared at her reflection, noticing a spot on her hair bow. It was a brown, splotchy kind of spot and not very attractive. She didn't mind, however, as it seemed to match the rest of her. 

"I'll call you tomorrow morning. Goodnight, Helga." The girl shut the door, and her frustrated footsteps could be heard going down the stairs and outside. 

Helga stood up, finally, and walked to the window. She looked with disgust at a bird, sitting just out of reach, that was singing its heart out. 

"Lousy bird," she muttered, laying on her bed and doing her best to ignore the tinny sound of its voice. "You've got plenty of nerve." 

The bird sang on, unabated. Finally, unable to stand it anymore, Helga stood, grabbed a shoe, and threw it as hard as she could at her tree-perched tormentor. It didn't have time to blink. With a sickening, bone-cracking thud, it hit the ground. Almost on cue, the neighbor cat strolled by and picked the thing up in its mouth, bolting immediately into the bushes with it. 

"Ha!" she said with a malicious grin. "That'll teach ya." 

She decided that sleeping was the best option at this point, and put on her pajamas. She then looked into the mirror again, that stupid glass devil that did its best to make her feel her inadequacies. 

Picking up her journal, she sat cross-legged on her bed and began to write. 

_Well, what do you know, _still_ no mention of my birthday from Miriam or Bob. I can't say I'm too surprised. I mean, they're really busy. Bob's got a beeper emporium to run, and Miriam has a lot of binge drinking to do. I totally understand. We'll just see if I'm available the next time they ask me to take out the trash._

She paused, scratching her head with the end of her pencil. Then she continued. 

_Phoebe wants to throw me a party herself, of course. Just her and her parents. I turned her down (in the most obvious of ways). It's depressing, I guess. I mean, she's my _only_ friend in the world. I didn't get any phone calls from anyone else yesterday. Even she called at the last minute. Said she had been out all day, but that's a load of trash. She just must've happened to glance at her calendar, saw it was my birthday, felt guilty, and decided to call at 11:46 at night, just to salve her conscience._

"Helga, lights out! There's school tomorrow!" 

Helga sighed, rolling her eyes. "Today's _Saturday_, Bob. There's no school on Sunday." 

There was silence outside the door. Then: "Well, five more minutes, then." 

She shot the door a dirty look, hoping that at least _some_ of it would seep through and hit him in the back of the head. 

_Well, I've gotta wrap this up. ... I think I'm going to go out tomorrow. You know, see what's happening. I haven't been out of the house of my own free will in two weeks._

She tucked her journal and pencil neatly underneath her pillow, then crawled into bed. She was pretty tired, considering she hadn't done anything all day. 

Just as she was about to drift to sleep, a thought hit her, so hard it almost made her bolt upright in bed. The prom was next Friday. That was a sobering thought. She obviously wouldn't have a date. That wasn't the point. But Arnold would. And she was, to put it mildly, extremely uncomfortable with the idea. There were a number of girls who would give their left leg to be seen at the dance with him. Though he wasn't considered _the_ cutest boy in the 11th grade (Helga thought he was, but she was biased), he was by far the sweetest guy most people had ever met (this she agreed with). 

One part of her gruffness that she had managed to overcome was the bullying toward Arnold. One might think that to be a good first step. Unfortunately, it was a step in the wrong direction. He had barely said a word to her since the 9th grade, as he had no reason to. Without a tormentor, he had begun to make many more friends, and had grown into the popularity powerhouse that he was now. 

With a sigh, she resigned herself to (try to) sleep. There was nothing she could do. 

... 

"Good morning, Helga!" came the excited voice from the other end of the phone. "Are you coming over tonight?" 

Helga rolled her eyes, but then sobered and sighed. "Yeah, I'll be there. Seven-ish, right?" 

"Y-yeah! I mean, that sounds good. Well, I'll see you then, okay?" 

"Yeah, thanks Phoebe." 

Helga got dressed, then grabbed her sketchbook and ran downstairs. "Miriam, I'm going to the park." 

There was no response, but Helga didn't care. She threw open the door and made her way to the park. She'd still be depressed, but at least she could be depressed _outside_ of her room, and variety is the spice of life. 

... 

There was no reason to get up. His family didn't attend church (surprisingly few in the boarding house did), and Sunday was the perfect day to sleep in. But, for some reason, he was unable to stay in bed. He was feeling anxious. The more he thought about it, the more firm he grew in his conclusion that it was the dance he was worrying about. This would be the first dance of his high school career where the _girls_ were responsible for asking the _guys_. It was nerve-wracking, as he, being the naive lad he was, wasn't aware of the fancy the local females had for him. 

And with less than a week to go, he was sure he was going to be passed up. This was a big city; there were a huge number of guys available. Why should anyone ask _him_, of all people? 

Well, in any case, he got up. It was surprisingly warm, considering it had been forecast as cloudy and chilly. With a glance out his window, he decided the forecasts weren't reliable. It was as bright and cheery as it had ever been, with no signs on the horizon of anything resembling a cloud. 

It was a good day to go to the park. But should he? After all, he had offered to help Oskar babysit today. Would it be wrong for him to simply leave, considering Oskar was probably the least reliable person on the planet, less reliable than today's weather forecast? 

He decided to see if Susie would be around, and if so, to have her tell Oskar that he wouldn't be able to come by. If he went to Oskar himself, there was no _way_ he'd be able to avoid a guilt trip. 

Susie was at breakfast, eating hurriedly and making a little bit of a mess. "Hey Susie," he said, sitting next to her. She smiled and passed him the cereal. 

"Morning, Arnold! You're up early." 

"Yeah, I thought I'd head out to the park. Is...Oskar up yet?" 

"No, he's still asleep, and Gabe is, too. Why?" 

Arnold chuckled slightly, then smiled back at her. "Well, could you do me a favor and tell Oskar I won't be coming by today to help him babysit?" 

"Oh, for Pete's sake, did he ask you to help him again?!" she exclaimed, and Arnold couldn't tell whether she was genuinely ticked or simply joking around. 

"Yeah..." 

"And you agreed?" she asked, wiping her mouth on the tablecloth. 

"Well, he sounded really..." 

"Desperate, I know. No, that's fine, I'd prefer he learn how to take care of Gabe by himself. At least until he gets a job." 

"Okay. Thanks, Susie." 

"No problem, Arnold. I'll leave him a note. I'm almost late, so I've gotta go. Take care!" 

"Bye." 

There, that problem was taken care of. Now all he needed was a guaranteed date to the dance. That, he thought, would be a little harder to come by. 

Other than the fact that he was nearly mowed down by a car on the way, he had a fairly uneventful trip to the park. The driver of said car was an angry, malicious teenager by the name of Oswald. He, like some others at school, was a little jealous of the attention given to Arnold by the ladies. And he was annoyed that Arnold never even took advantage of his good fortune. 

After an angry exchange, containing dialog unprintable in this story, Oswald sped away, leaving Arnold choking on exhaust. Arnold was, as usual, confused as to just why Oswald gave him such a hard time. Naive. 

It was a genuinely beautiful day. It had been awhile since Arnold had just sat outside and enjoyed a genuinely beautiful day. On the other hand, he hadn't had much time. He was the editor of the school newspaper, the head of the Prom Committee, Chief Hall Monitor, and a well-to-do after school tutor. Free time was something that Arnold treasured, though he usually ended up spending it all on doing homework. Fortunately, his work load had been extremely low that week. 

He took a seat on the nearest park bench and watched some kids playing baseball. It was one of his fondest memories from his youth, playing baseball with his friends in the alley across from the boarding house. Well, before it was turned into a used car lot, that is. It was an unfortunate turn of events, but one that was easily pinned on Big Bob Pataki. He had orchestrated it, based on his hatred of all things. Sad but true. 

And there, on the park bench across the pond, sat his daughter, Helga. Gosh, thought Arnold, it's been a long time since I've talked to her. 

He decided to walk around and sit with her, but as he began to get up, something came over him. It was a ... it was hard to explain. It was almost like... fear. But that didn't make sense. Why on earth should he be afraid of Helga? Sure, she'd picked on him when they were younger, but that was just immaturity. And she had never hurt him _physically_. He decided he was just being paranoid and forced himself to walk over to her. 

She had seen him coming from the very beginning. She had her sketchbook with her, and had been drawing a picture of him sitting there, looking serene like he always did. She quickly closed it, though, as he came nearer. 

"Hi Helga," he said, smiling one of his winning smiles. "Can I sit here?" 

"Oh, hi Arnold," she said, smiling back, though not as ... winningly. "Yeah, have a seat." 

He sat down, and almost immediately they both felt the awkward tension. Arnold had no idea what it was, but Helga knew exactly what she was feeling. Here was the guy she had adored for years, sitting right next to her. True, her infatuation for him had shrunk slightly over the past year and a half of not speaking to him, but it was quickly rekindled now. 

"So, what've you been up to?" she asked him, crossing her left leg over her right in what she hoped was at least a _somewhat_ feminine manner. 

He shrugged, turning to look at a duck that had just landed in the pond. "Oh, you know. School stuff. How about you?" 

"You know me. Nothing extraordinary." 

He didn't say anything for a moment, which of course made Helga all the more nervous. She continued, "Yeah, I mean, my life's been pretty much the same... You know, day in, day out..." 

He nodded, though he was deep in thought. Finally, he turned and smiled at her again. "Oh, Happy Birthday, by the way. It was last Friday, right?" 

She was dumbfounded, and understandably so. How did he know it had been her birthday? She asked him. 

"Huh? Oh, Phoebe called, said that if I saw you I should wish you a happy birthday." 

So that was it. He hadn't actually remembered it, he'd been reminded. A day too late, too. 

"Well, thanks," she said, hiding her disappointment with another smile. "So..." 

He crossed his arms and sighed. "It's really nice out here. Today, anyway. At least it didn't rain, right?" 

She nodded, then realized he wasn't looking at her. "Yeah, it's nice." 

Something caught his eye, and he bent over to see what it was. "Oh, is this yours?" he asked, showing her the gold ring he had just found. 

It was something out of her deepest fantasies. If she could freeze just that image and keep it forever, she would be content. Arnold, offering her a ring. She shook herself, then frowned. 

"No. It's nice, though." 

He thought a minute, then held out his hand. "Well, why don't you hang on to it? I don't think it would look very good on me." 

She took it from him, slowly, deliberately, doing her best to prolong her fantasy. Then she giggled. Not the most feminine giggle, but she was working on it. 

"So, has anybody asked you to the dance yet?" 

Arnold's stomach flipped. _This_ is what he had been secretly afraid of. He'd been afraid that, if he talked to her, she would ask him to the dance. Of all the girls in school, the _last_ person he'd want to be seen with was Helga Pataki. 

He realized it didn't sound very nice of him, even to think it. But from what he knew of Helga, she wasn't just unattractive on the outside. It was her personality that everybody hated. And though he didn't know her very well anymore, he was afraid that she hadn't changed much. 

Honestly, though, she wasn't exactly unattractive on the outside at all, now that he looked at her again. She could have been very pretty, if she maybe did something with her hair, tried smiling more, talking more. 

"Well, I've had... a couple girls ask me so far," he lied, his face during a shade of red that he hoped wasn't too noticeable. "I don't know if I want to go with either of them, though. I havne't made up my mind." 

"Oh," she replied, closing her eyes briefly. This was her chance. What was the worst that could happen? He could say no? Well, then she wouldn't be any worse off than she was now. 

"Would you... you know, maybe wanna go with me? As friends, of course. I mean, I haven't hung out with you in like a year, and I thought maybe it would be a good opportunity to get reaquainted." 

There, she'd said it. She was proud of herself, and Arnold was devastated. He was even more devastated because he knew what his answer was about to be. 

"Well... sure, why not? You sure you wanna go with me?" 

"Yes," she answered. She hoped she hadn't said it too quickly. Well, she probably had, but Arnold was looking pretty nervous himself, so she decided not to count it against herself. 

"Alright then," he said. "It's a date." She nearly fainted. "I'll call you sometime this week and we can make plans and stuff." 

"You mean for dinner?" she asked, hopeful yet trying not to sound so. 

"Well...yeah, dinner. And stuff. Well, I'll talk to you later, okay?" 

"Alright. Bye!" she said, then waited until he was out of sight before swooning. 

Now he'd gone and done it. He didn't want to take Helga Pataki to the dance. For crying out loud, she was...she was... Helga Pataki! Nobody wanted to be caught dead with her anywhere! 

His reputation would be ruined. Until now, he had never thought much about his reputation. He realized that, if he went through with this, he would be the laughing stock of the entire school. 

But would it hurt her feelings to tell her that he changed his mind? She had said she just wanted to go as friends, after all. 

No, he decided to go through with it. At the very least, he'd give himself a couple days to think about it. A couple days... 


	2. Monday

Peace That Passeth... 

Chapter 2: Monday 

"There's no way in heck you'll ever guess what happened yesterday." 

Phoebe smiled, pleased that, for once, Helga seemed not only friendly, but genuinely happy. She sighed, smiling even more, and placed a hand on her friend's shoulder. 

"Alright Helga, for the last time, _what_ happened yesterday? You've been keeping me on the edge of my seat for five minutes now!" 

Helga laughed. "Yeah, I guess I have. Sorry, Pheebs, but this is incredible! You have no idea..." 

"That's right, and I won't if you don't tell me!" 

"Right, right, I'm getting there. Well, I was in the park yesterday, feeling sorry for myself, right? Anyway, and I look across the lake and, lo and behold, there's Arnold sitting on a park bench, and ... yes, this is hard to believe, but he was _looking_ at me. At _me_. So anyway, I was totally blown away, I mean, I haven't talked to him in like a year, so anyway... Am I going too fast?" 

Phoebe's head was spinning. "You...lost me somewhere back at 'I was in the park...'." 

"C'mon Pheebs, pay attention! This is important!" Helga exclaimed, taking her friend by the shoulders. 

"I know, Helga. I was kidding. Go on." 

"Right, anyway, so there he was, looking at me. And I was really out of it, it was so cool. And then, I look up, and voila! There he is, right in front of me. And then he asks if he can sit down. I'm like, 'Sure,' and then we started talking. But that's not even the incredible part." 

"What's the incredible part?" 

"I asked him to the prom. I _asked him to the prom_. Do you know what this means?!" 

Phoebe was silent a moment. "Well, that depends. Did he say yes or no?" 

"That's just the point! He said yes! We're going to the prom on Friday! Can you believe it?!" 

"Wow, that's great, Helga!" Phoebe tried to exclaim, but found herself barely able to muster the enthusiasm to say it properly. 

Helga was a little disappointed by the reaction she got. She frowned deeply, and she steeled herself against growing angry. 

"You don't sound too happy for me," she said, trying not to tap her foot impatiently. 

"I...I'm sorry, Helga. I _am_ happy for you, it's just..." 

Helga nearly kicked herself. She had forgotten about the whole thing. 

"Man, I'm sorry, Phoebe. I wasn't thinking. It must not be easy for you to hear something like this right now, huh?" 

"It's fine, Helga. I shouldn't be dwelling on it. It was six months ago." 

Helga was silent, trying her best to think of something to say, some way of dragging the declining mood back to its feet. 

"Hey, he wasn't the greatest guy in the world. You could do a lot better, you know. And besides, those long-distance relationships never work out." 

Despite Helga's good intentions, that definitely _wasn't_ the best thing to say. Phoebe started to break down, but Helga wasn't about to let that happen. 

"Whoa, Pheebs, sorry, that came out all wrong. I didn't mean it like that. I mean, I know he meant a lot to you, but what I was trying to say was..." 

"It's okay, Helga," she managed, reaching up to her nightstand and grabbing some tissue. "I shouldn't be such a big baby about it. I shouldn't have thought it would last. We're only in eleventh grade. I'm surprised it lasted as long as it did." 

Phoebe was now sitting up in her sleeping bag, her face a dark sillouette against the relative brightness of the lamp. The clock on her nightstand read 2:34. 

"You don't mean that, Phoebe. You know as well as I do that you wanted to marry the guy." 

There was silence for awhile, then Phoebe reached up and switched off the lamp. Helga heard her scooting down into her sleeping bag. "Yeah," she answered finally. "Yeah, I guess I did." 

... 

Arnold was up and ready long before he needed to be at the bus. Normally, he would have considered this a good thing, and would have enjoyed his extra time talking with the boarders or finishing up some last minute homework assignment he'd neglected the night before. But all he could think about all morning (and all night, for that matter) was his impending date with Helga. 

It was inevitable, he decided. There was no _way_, with him being the way he was, that he could back out. He was too sensitive. Too considerate. Too much of a chump. 

"Hey, so, you all excited about the prom yet?" Arnold swung around, startled out of his mental wanderings. Grandpa. "Friday, right?" 

He shrugged. "A little. I'm not too psyched. It's no big deal." 

"'No big deal?!' Arnold, this is your junior prom!! I mean, it's... no, wait, you're right. It's no big deal. Never mind." 

Grandpa walked into the kitchen and sat down across from Mr. Nguyen. It looked like almost all the regulars were downstairs eating. "Pass the turnips." 

Arnold shook his head, wishing he had a little support. Well, maybe he would have some support, if he actually _talked_ to someone about his little problem. 

He walked casually into the kitchen and sat down next to Grandpa. 

"Can I talk to you guys about something?" he asked, hanging his bag over the back of his chair. "It's kinda important." 

"Sure, what's up, short man?" Grandpa asked. He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the table. 

"Well... here's the thing. Helga Pataki--you remember her?--she asked if I'd go to the prom with her, and I said yes." 

There were blank stares all around the table. "I fail to see the problem," Susie said, looking at him with a playful smile. "It sounds weet." 

Arnold sighed. This wasn't going to be easy. "No, you guys don't understand. This is _Helga Pataki_! I mean, nobody wants to go to the prom with Helga Pataki!" 

"Oh, then it was really nice of you to say you'd go with her," Grandpa said conclusively. "Pass the turnips, for Pete's sake!" 

Arnold sighed, then excused himself, grabbing his bag off the chair as he did so. They wouldn't understand. But his friends at school would... wait, would they? Well, Gerald would, in any case. 

He threw his money in the collection box disgustedly and took a seat far in the back. He knew Helga would be riding, and she usually sat in the front. He wanted to be as far away from her as possible. He was clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, she'd forget about the whole thing. 

But Helga didn't get on at her stop. 'Maybe she's got pneumonia or something,' Arnold thought, hopefully. Then he chided himself. This was childish. He just needed to talk to her, work things out, and hope that there wouldn't be any hurt feelings. But the only way he could think of to get out of this whole mess would be to lie and say he wasn't going to be able to _go_ at all. And he _wanted_ to go. This wasn't going to be easy. 

A few stops later, he saw Helga climb on the bus with Phoebe. And just as he was about to duck his head, they made eye contact. He saw her mumble something to Phoebe, then nod and make her way to the back. 

"Hey Arnold, what's up?" she asked. He did a double take. Here was Helga, wearing a green sweater and blue jeans, her hair down, with makeup on... She actually looked somewhat... attractive. He found this hard to swallow. 

"Oh, hi Helga. You wanna sit?" 

"Yeah, thanks. I thought you'd wanna talk about the prom." 

'Boy, do I ever,' he thought, then said aloud, "Yeah, we'd better work out where we'll be going. I mean, I'm low on cash at the moment, so I hope you don't want to eat any place _really_ fancy." 

"Nah, you kidding? Wherever. I can help, too, if you want. I've got a job." This was the first he'd heard of Helga having a job. "I work at Dairy Queen, off 65. You know the place?" 

"Yeah, I would see the sign everyday on the way to baseball practice," he said lamely, jealous of her good fortune. He'd been trying for months to land a decent job, with no luck. 

"That's cool," she said, then the atmosphere morphed into discomfort. 

Helga was fuming inside. Here she was, all the time she needed to talk to him about _everything_, and she was chickening out! Well, maybe she didn't have _all_ the time she needed, but she had enough time to get started. 

That had been her goal for this morning: To tell Arnold, once and for all, that she had feelings for him. But apparently it wasn't going to happen. And the next time she glanced out the window, they were at school. 

The day went by, too quickly for Helga, and too slowly for Arnold. He was running out of time. He needed to get things straight with Helga, in time to--hopefully--get asked out by some other girl. 

Helga was on Cloud Nine for the entirety of her day. She'd never felt better. And she liked the attention she was getting now. People were coming up to her and asking if she were new. Obviously she wasn't, so she would just smile and walk on. Guys in particular seemed interested in striking up conversations with her now, and she was happy to oblige. 

... 

"Helga, go clean your room! And where the heck were you last night?! You never called or anything!" 

This was the sound that greeted Helga upon her arrival at home. She sighed. Only a couple more years of this. 

"Fine, Bob. And go ask Miriam whether I called or not. See if you can get a straight answer." 

She ran upstairs, skipping steps as she went, and threw herself into her room. This had been, by far, one of the best days of her life. She didn't want it to end, but she knew it would. She decided that she should write in her diary now, while the feelings of euphoria were still in effect. 

_Had the most incredible day. I borrowed some of Phoebe's clothes, put some makeup on (wasn't as bad as I thought it would be), and _everybody_ noticed me! It was so amazing! And Arnold, I think I caught his eye, too. Man, I can't believe it! I actually feel a poem coming on, for the first time in, what, two years?_

... 

And Arnold stared at the wall for the remainder of the evening, his stomach tying itself up in knots, then untying, and then tying again even tighter, just to spite him. He heard a knock at his door and he nearly jumped through the roof. 

"Come in," he muttered, and whether the party on the other end heard him or not, the door swung up and open. It was Phoebe. 

"Oh, hi Phoebe," Arnold said, trying to sound excited to see her. "What's up?" 

Phoebe sighed. "I just wanted to talk to you ... you know ... about this whole thing with Helga. The prom and everything." 

"Y-yeah? What about it?" he asked, swinging his legs around and sitting at the edge of the bed. 

She stood in silence, her lip quivering. "Look Arnold, I never told her. The truth, I mean." 

"You never... what? The truth?" 

"I told her I was dating someone long distance, that I'd visit him every weekend, you know, he lived on the other side of the city, it was too hard to get together very often. That's what I told her." 

Arnold was shocked. "So you mean you lied to her. She doesn't know?" 

"No, she has no idea. And ... I just wanted to make sure it _stays_ that way." 

Phoebe tried to gather up the courage to put a threatening look on her face, but she realized she was just looking desperate. She finally broke down and had to lean against the wall. Arnold was on his feet in an instant, his arm around her shoulders. 

"Phoebe, whoa, slow down a second! I mean, you never explained anything to me. Why did it have to be such a secret? That was most of the reason it ended, you know." 

She nodded. "I know it was. And I'm sorry. I can't possibly say it enough. I'm so sorry..." 

She was sobbing at this point. "There's something you don't know. Something I can't say, because I _swore_ I never would. But I need you to know, I never _meant_ for it to end up this way!" 

She struggled to say something more, but she couldn't, and soon found herself running from his house and out into the night. 

He stood in the doorway for a long time after she left. But no amount of logic seemed to be able to make sense of the whole mess. This was just what he _didn't_ need right now. 


	3. Tuesday

Peace that Passeth... 

Chapter 3: Tuesday 

_I don't know why I'm being this way. I don't have any real reason, other than the fact that I'm a selfish jerk, who really doesn't care about anyone else. ... But I'm not being fair to myself. I know that isn't true. I care too much. Far too much. I could've been happy, exuberant. My life could've been... Could've. Yeah, that's the word. Compound word, actually. Could have. **Could have**. _

I guess there weren't ever any guarantees, though. 

Helga would admit, she was starting to get a little nervous. She'd never actually been to a dance before, much less with _Arnold_. This was the chance of a lifetime, and she didn't want to blow it by not being prepared. 

She stared out her window. It was a miserable-looking day. Dark, malevolent clouds blotted out every hopeful ray of sunshine that tried to force its way through. The air was completely silent, no birdsong, no cars, no wind. 

Just as she thought that, a slight breeze began to blow. It stirred the leaves in the tree. With a slight grin, Helga watched a squirrel peek its head out from inside a hole, then scamper out and down the trunk, probably off to find food. She sighed. Survival--simplicity at its best. Survival was what she was used to. Now she was having to adapt to things that were completely and utterly foreign to her. It was a tearing experience. 

Her room was a wreck, she observed, turning from the window. She hadn't cleaned it at all since she had talked to Arnold at the park on Sunday. Dirty clothes, plates, napkins, all lay in heaps on the floor. She shrugged to herself--it didn't matter much, since no one really cared enough to check up on her. She rarely had company; even Phoebe barely came by anymore. The day after her birthday had been an exception to what was rapidly becoming the rule--Phoebe was losing interest in her as a friend. 

With that depressing thought, Helga put her shoes on and opened her bedroom door. The house was dark. 'Strange,' she thought, peeking around the corner nervously. 'I thought everyone was home today.' 

She decided she didn't really care, though, and stomped down the stairs. Then, realizing what she must look like, she bit her lip and ran back to the top. This time, she walked down slowly, casually, lady-like. Satisfied, she opened the front door and stepped outside, grabbing an umbrella as she did, just in case. 

... 

She nearly ran into Olga. 

"Hey, what the... Olga?" she said, befuddled and a little upset and having nearly fallen over. 

"Hi Helga! How are you, Sweety?" 

"I'm ... fine. What are you doing here? I mean, I thought you were..." 

She laughed, effectively cutting Helga's inquiry off. "Oh no, that all fell through. But both of us are happy now. Boy, it feels so liberating to be single again!" 

Helga threw Olga the most horrified look she could manage, and she actually meant it. "You got a divorce?!" 

"Oh yes, last month. Didn't Mom and Dad tell you? I would've written you myself, but you see, after ..." 

"Never mind that! I'm so sorry! That's horrible! I mean, you two were so close!" 

Olga patted Helga on the head, then, realizing that she wasn't a little girl anymore, placed a hand on her shoulder. "Oh Helga. I'm perfectly fine. Like I said, neither of us could be happier right now. It was the right thing to do." 

... 

Olga was a woman of many layers; Helga knew this for certain. Olga wasn't being up front about her feelings, and Helga knew why. 

They were sitting in the car, at a red light, catching up. Their conversation had been fairly idle up to this point, consisting basically of 'How's school?' 'Meet any cute boys?' 'What's your take on the Global Warming problem?' and such. But Helga decided enough was enough and just came out with it. 

"You're miserable, aren't you?" she asked, staring straight ahead, knowing Olga would feel more comfortable talking about it if she avoided eye contact. 

After a long pause, Olga answered. "Yes." 

"It's Mom and Dad, right?" 

Another pause. Then: "Yes." 

Bob and Miriam were, to put it mildly, extremely unhappy with Olga's choice in a husband. He was an author, unknown and broke. He had high hopes for her; her husband didn't fit into the image of their "ideal son-in-law." 

But she had loved him desperately, and when they refused to consent to the marriage, she married him anyway. It was at that point that Bob and Miriam broke off all contact with her. She hadn't heard from them at all for two years, which was, of course, extremely hard for her. 

"Look, why do you let them run your life? You've always been so outgoing, so popular, so... so... you know, so _good_ at everything. You could be whatever you wanted to! And you darn well should be able to marry whoever the heck you want! Why did you leave him? Honestly? What was going through your mind when you decided to move back in with us? Was it _his_ feelings, or was it your own? Honestly, Olga, I don't understand you." 

"Helga, of _course_ I care about his feelings! I love him! He..." 

"You sure have a funny way of expressing love." 

Time passed. Helga wasn't sure how much time, but she knew a lot of time had passed, as they had driven by the butcher shop three times before Olga spoke again. 

"I've lived my entire life as some... some... glorified flesh-born Barbie doll. They've dressed me up, sent me out to do everything, to _be_ everything they weren't but wished they were. That's my life. When I broke away from them... I just didn't know what to do. I lost all meaning in my life." 

Helga sighed, then noticed out of the corner of her eye that Olga was crying. She kept her eyes trained on the dashboard and answered. 

"That's because you were living _their_ life, not your own." 

She heard a slight chuckle from Olga, followed by a tiny sob disguised as a hiccup. "I don't even know how to begin being my own person... I think I've proven that." 

... 

She hated herself. Not only that, but she was positive that _he_ hated her. And if Helga knew, then _Helga_ would hate her, too. But Helga couldn't know. There was no way that she could allow Helga to find out the truth. 

That was why she had been distancing herself from Helga--guilt. She felt guilty for taking the love of her best friend's life. True enough, though, he never expressed any interest in her whatsoever (and she was sure he was merely going to the dance with Helga to make her regret having forced him to keep their relationship a secret.) But she still felt terrible. 

And she wasn't much of a liar, either. At least, she was never one to carry a lie on for so long. This was a lie that required her to create more and more lies constantly. She hated herself. 

It had yet to start raining, though Phoebe was positive that it would soon. She shivered, feeling the slight chill that the air had taken. Her room was completely dark, even the light from outside unable to drive the darkness from her room. 'Huh,' she thought, 'Life's good at throwing analogies my way just when I'd rather it shut up and leave me alone.' She looked down at her lap, at her diary which lay there. She picked it up. She looked at her most recent entry... 

"I guess there weren't ever any guarantees, though..." 

She had basically guaranteed _herself_ that she would be with him someday. So this entry was a load of garbage. There _was_ a guarantee--the person who made it was simply too stupid to follow through. 

She touched her lips and felt blood. She held her fingers up, looking at it. The darkness shaded it, but she could still see the tiniesty glint of red glistening on her fingertips. She had been biting her lip, apparently. It was a nasty habit, one that only manifested itself when she was genuinely disturbed. She wouldn't cry anymore; she knew herself well enough to know that her tears were gone, at least for awhile. But she found other ways of showing her torment, whether she consciously wanted to or not. 

She picked up the phone. She dialed. She waited. 

"Hello?" 

"Hi, is Helga home?" she asked, trying her best to sound her cheerful self, even to Big Bob. 

"No, she went out for a drive with Olga. Is this Phoebe?" 

"Yes sir. Could you tell her I called?" 

"Sure. Take care." He hung up, but she held the phone to her ear for a long time, until it began beeping in protest. She set it down again on the receiver, touched her lips again, then stood and went downstairs. 

"I'm going out for awhile, okay Mom?" she said, calling into the light of the kitchen. 

"You really want to, hon? It's looking mighty gloomy out, might start raining." 

"I know. I'll bring an umbrella. I won't be too long." 

"Be careful, baby." 

She assumed that Arnold was at school. After all, the prom committee had been meeting there every Tuesday for the past three months. She only knew this because she had been paying extra close attention to Arnold's every action. Had she been stalking him? She wouldn't have used that word. Much too harsh-sounding. 

A mist had, by this time, covered most of downtown. It was like looking through a bowl of split pea soup. Or, at least, _trying,_ to look through one. She wasn't in a good part of town, but she was walking along the shortest distance between her house and the high school. The buildings were mostly all red brick, and only one stood out from the drabness of the others. It was the local Outreach Center. Some church organization ran it, supposedly to help feed the poor in this area of town. She had volunteered there once, back in the bygone days of elementary school. 

And she had been asked, on several occasions, to come and help again. But she wanted nothing to do with the place now. It was too "churchy" for her, too much preaching. It made her extremely uncomfortable. Arnold was big into church, at least since he entered high school. She knew, though, that he had stopped going entirely since the two of them had broken up six months prior. 

She arrived at the school, and peered through a barred window into the gym. There they were, hard at work, putting up all the banners, the streamers, the lights, the sound system. And there _he_ was, working his heart out for his school, his friends. 

_For Helga...?_ she thought, then shook her head. No, he didn't really _want_ to go with Helga. He was doing it to get back at her. She didn't blame him. 

She wasn't jealous of her friend; at least, not in the usual sense. Sure, she wished it were her going to the prom with Arnold. But she couldn't be angry at Helga for stabbing her in the back; it was she who had stabbed _Helga_, anyway. 

She sat outside for a half hour or so, until it began to sprinkle. The raindrops splatted against her head, seemingly heavier than they ought to be. Their heaviness reminded her of her present mood, and she reluctantly opened her umbrella and walked home. 

... 

"Man, it's raining! I've gotta walk home, too. That stinks..." 

"Easy man," Gerald said, slapping his friend on the back. "I'll give you a ride! No prob!" 

Arnold almost laughed. "You're still driving that old thing, eh? Surprised it hasn't ..." 

"Eh eh eh, Arnold, my man. Don't diss the wheels. You're just jealous, after all." 

"Sure, yeah." Arnold chuckled, then followed Gerald outside. The sprinkling had turned into a torrential downpour, and puddles were growing into streams growing into rivers. Cars flew by, throwing sheets of water over the fence, nearly drenching the two as they ran for the car. 

"Dang, man, this is nuts! Where'd this come from, anyway?" 

Arnold shrugged. "I don't know. It was _supposed_ to rain yesterday, but it was clear as it could be..." 

"I oughtta become a meteorologist. I'd bring some dignity back to the profession," Gerald said, though not seriously enough to prevent Arnold from responding with a laugh. 

"Mmhmm," he muttered afterward, then put his seatbelt on. "Hey, Gerald..." 

"What's up, man?" 

"Serious problem." 

"Uh oh... what's up?" 

"You remember Helga Pataki?" 

"Yeah, sure I do. She's in my government class. What about her?" 

"Would you believe me if I told you I... this is hard to say..." 

"What?" 

"What if I told you I agreed to go to the prom with her? What would you say?" 

Gerald laughed, uproariously, for several seconds before answering. "You know what I'd say. And what I'm _gonna_ say: What's the matter with you?!" 

Arnold sighed. "I figured you'd react like this..." 

"At least you know me well enough to know that," he answered, chuckling. 

"I don't know, I guess it's kinda mean of me to be like this, but ... I really _really_ don't like her at all... I mean, sure, maybe she's changed since I last talked with her and stuff, but... all that harrassment doesn't just vanish after a couple years..." 

"Well, she is a lot quieter now. Hardly says a word in class. She's been turnin' some heads lately, though. She's nowhere near as ugly as she was... Heck, she's lookin' okay now, in my opinion." 

"Yeah, but that's not the point." 

"I know, man. You're an honest guy, I'll give you that. So, are you gonna take her or not?" 

"Yeah, I guess I am... but ... It's digging up a lot of past hurt, you know what I mean?" 

"I do. Just talk to her. Get all that stuff out of the way. Who knows... maybe you'll have fun." 

"Yeah, maybe..." 

They drove on in the downpour, neither saying a word, and Arnold hoping that his friend was right. 

Maybe there _could_ be life after Phoebe... 


	4. Wednesday

Peace that Passeth... 

Chapter 4: Wednesday 

_I am unbearably excited! I mean, this is it, it's coming down to the wire. Just today, tomorrow, and then... FRIDAY! I can hardly believe it. ... That's been my greatest fear this week; that I'll wake up, and it'll have all just been a dream... a wonderful fantasy that I refuse to emerge from. _

I'm not the queen of popularity by any means. But people notice me now. People talk to me. People seem to want to be my friend. It's hard not to get conceited, what with all the attention, but I think I'm doing okay. I mean, I'm trying not to let it all go to my head... 

And Arnold... geez, there's the ultimate happiness right there. Finally, he'll have no choice but to notice me! He'll be dancing with me! I mean, this is it. 

Poor Phoebe, though. When I talked to her last night, she sounded really down. Maybe she's jealous that I'm going to the dance with Arnold... most of the girls would be, if they knew. For once, Phoebe's jealous of me. I don't take any pleasure in that, though... just an observation. Shoot, I mean, she's my best friend... I wouldn't want her to be hurt, no matter how good it would make me feel. 

Oops, better wrap this up. Lunch's ready. 

Helga closed her diary and slid it back under her pillow, then shouted in reply, "Yeah, I'll be right down!" She slid off her bed and tripped over her shoes, which were lying haphazardly in a pile next to her dresser. She fell promptly on her elbows, then rolled over with the pain. 

"Man, I'm such a klutz!" she shouted, to no one in particular. She heard footsteps outside. 

"Helga...? You've got company." It was Olga, looking down at her bemusedly and hiding a grin. "Should I... ask him if he wants to stay for lunch?" 

"_Him?_" I exclaimed, then relaxed, and continued, "Um... who is it?" 

"It's your friend Arnold. He said he wanted to talk to you about some things, and ... well, I'll let you talk to him." 

She stepped aside as Arnold came up the stairs. He also gave her something of an amused look as he put his hands in his pockets. Helga's face burned furiously, and she leaped to her feet, dusting herself off as she did. 

"Heh. Yeah. I need to clean my room." She forced some laughter, doing her best to pull this rather embarassing situation out of the deep end. 

"Are you okay?" Arnold asked, taking a step toward her. 

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I was just... you know... uh..." 

"It's okay, I know," he said, effectively ending what would have been a string of pointless stutterings. 

"So," Olga said, with too bright a smile, "would you like to stay for lunch?" 

"Oh, um, sure. Yeah, just let me call home and let my grandpa know." 

Arnold went downstairs to do so, and Olga turned to Helga. "So, is he the one? You're going to the prom with?" 

"Yeah..." Helga answered, embarassed for who-knew-what reason. 

Olga raised an eyebrow, then nudged her on the shoulder. "He's cute." 

Without another word, she made her way downstairs. 

Helga sighed, then quickly grabbed a comb and made an attack at her hair. She was glad that she and Olga had worked out their differences. They actually found they had a lot in common, only not in the ways that most people look for commonality. That made their two-year separation even harder for Helga to deal with. 

"Come on, Helga! Burgers are on the table!" she heard Olga call out a minute later. Helga took one final look in the mirror, then, still dissatisfied, decided it was best to just go downstairs and get it over with. But what had he wanted to talk with her about? 

"There you are," Olga said, setting Helga's plate in front of her. Olga had conveniently placed her spot directly next to Arnold's. She made a note to thank her later. 

Arnold was just coming in from the kitchen, having presumably used the phone. "Is everything okay?" Olga asked, setting a pitcher of water in the middle of the table. 

"Huh? Oh, yeah, everything's fine. I just need to be home by three, since I have to get ready for the prom meeting tonight." 

"Really?" Helga asked. "Why are you guys meeting tonight?" 

"Oh, we're meeting tonight and tomorrow. There's still a lot more that needs to be done." 

"Hmm..." 

Helga honestly was trying to be conversational, though she found it extremely difficult to put words to anything she was thinking. For a second, she felt the urge to say something mean, something like "Man, the prom committee sure is a buncha losers! I can't believe it's taking you guys _this_ long to get the stupid gym set up! Man!" but she resisted the temptation. She knew it had never gotten her anywhere before, anyway. 

They all finally got situated, and the casual conversation began. A little too quickly for Helga's tastes. 

"So, you and Helga will be going to the prom, right?" Olga asked, dishing up some scalloped potatoes. 

"Oh, um, yeah," Arnold replied. Not too smooth. 

"Well, this is the first _I've_ heard of any of this!" Bob exclaimed, taking a swig of the beer can that was his constant companion. "Why didn't you tell us, Helga?" 

Helga shrugged. "Seriously, Sweety, we're your parents," Miriam said, taking a swig in much the same manner as Bob had moments ago. "We like to know these things." 

"Well, I didn't think you guys would care whether I was going to the prom or not..." 

"'Course we care!" Bob exclaimed. "You've never been to a school dance before, right?" 

"Yeah..." she mumbled. 'Thanks for mentioning that.' 

"So this is a pretty big thing! Your mom and I met at _our_ junior prom, after all..." 

Miriam managed a smile in response, then continued picking at her food. 

And Arnold was growing more and more uncomfortable. The last thing he wanted to talk about right now was the prom. He was nervous enough eating at Helga's house as it was. 

The conversation continued in much the same way, Bob and Miriam and Olga discussing their respective prom experiences. Arnold was feeling nauseous, Helga was as embarassed as she'd ever been, and neither of them wanted to be at the table right then. Finally, though, they both finished and excused themselves simultaneously. Soon they found themselves on the deck, in the backyard. 

"So," she said finally, after several moments of silence. "What did you want to talk to me about?" 

Arnold was losing his nerve. He had known at once that he shouldn't have come, and was growing more and more certain of that fact as time went by. 

'I need to just say this and have it be done with,' he thought, then scratched his head and sat down on the porch swing. With some reservation, she sat down next to him. 

"I...I have some things I need to say to you..." he began, resisting the urge to chew on a fingernail. 

"Like... what? Something bad?" she asked, suddenly afraid that all her dreams were about to go up in smoke. 

He sat silent for a moment, then finally said, "Well, it's not _bad_, like, 'I hate you,' or anything like that." 

"Okay... so what is it?" she asked, growing more desperate to know. 

"I'm sorry for bringing this up now..." he replied, sighing. "It's all in the past, I know. But I need to get it out and deal with it." 

"Wh-what is it?" she asked again. 

"I have some reservations about going to the prom with you, but I don't want you to take it personally." 

Oh. So he had some "reservations"? That didn't sound quite as bad as she'd been thinking. But she pressed him to continue. 

"Look, when we were younger, I dealt with a lot of stuff... from you. I mean, we were just kids, I know, and things are different when you're older... but I'm having a hard time forgetting all of that..." 

So that was it. She figured something like this was coming; it was _way_ overdue, but she knew it was coming. 

"I figured this would be a problem," she said, sighing. "I'm sorry, Arnold. I was rotten to you. I know I was. But there was a reason for it..." 

"You just really didn't like me, huh?" he asked, displaying his all-too-obvious naivety. 

"No, it wasn't that. Just the opposite, actually. I had, like, this massive crush on you all through grade school and junior high." 

Wow. She'd said it. It was in the past tense, but she'd said it. 

He was stunned for a moment, then said, "Wow. I had no idea. You were good at hiding it." 

"Yeah, that's one of my specialties. Hiding my feelings." 

"Yeah..." 

"Yep..." 

Another awkward pause. She was getting sick of this. So was he, but he wasn't about to say anything. 

"So, you still wanna go to the dance with me? You're not still mad at me?" she asked finally, breaking the silence. 

"Well, yeah. I'm not mad at you anymore, no. It helps to know that there was a good reason behind it... though really, did you think that being mean was the best way to win my affections?" 

She laughed. "No, I wasn't that stupid. I was a messed up kid." 

She decided to leave it at that. Arnold laughed, too, then said, "Man, it feels weird talking to you like this. I could never talk to Phoebe like..." 

He cut himself off midsentence, realizing he'd almost broken his promise. Even though he wasn't with Phoebe anymore, he was always sure to keep his promises. 

But this startling revelation wouldn't be dropped so easily, not by Helga. "What? What about Phoebe?" 

Caught in the act, and with no other discernible way out, he shrugged, defeated. "Phoebe and I had been going out for a long time. But she made me keep it a secret. I don't understand why, though... it almost felt like she was embarassed of me or something. I mean, I know she genuinely cared about me and stuff, but it was like... I wasn't good enough to show off or something." 

"That can't be... she never told me that. I mean, she tells me _everything_. The only relationship she's ever been in was with some guy that lives across town, a long-distance type thing. She broke up with him six months ago." 

"Well, that's weird, because _we_ broke up six months ago. ... Do you think, maybe, she was seeing both of us at the same time? That might explain why she didn't want anyone to know about us..." 

He sighed, feeling queasy. He didn't like feeling betrayed. He'd given his heart to Phoebe, and this new idea was really unsettling. 

Helga shook her head. There was no _way_ that Phoebe would do something like that to her. Phoebe knew how she felt about Arnold! She was one of the few that knew, and she had promised her... 

"Wh-when did you two first start going out?" she asked, reservedly. 

He sighed again, running a hand back through his hair nervously. "It was... gosh, let me think...did you go to Susan Dillard's party last year?" 

"The New Year's one? No, I didn't." 

"Well, I think it was there that we decided to be an "item" or whatever. It grew from there. ... I'm sorry, it's usually a bad idea to talk about the ex..." 

"No, that's...okay. It's very interesting... I mean, I've never experienced anything like that. It sounds terrible!" 

"It was... Yeah, it was..." 

... 

And so it had been for Phoebe, though she had been doing her best to keep smiling. Not even her parents knew of Arnold; they'd never even really met him. She had been _that_ precise in keeping it a secret. But she had found it unbearable to not say _anything, ever_, so she made up the long-distance relationship to give her something to talk about. In her mind, "Jeremy" was Arnold, and everything they did "over the weekend" was what she and Arnold had done all week. Skiing in the mountains with his family, for example. That had turned into quite a story by the time Phoebe had gotten done telling it. 

Right now she was finishing a late lunch, making idle chit chat with her parents about school, homework, the like. Her heart wasn't in the conversation, though, and her mother knew it. 

"Sweety, what's wrong?" 

Phoebe, startled by the suddenness of the question, answered abruptly, "Nothing!" Then, hestitantly, "Wh-why?" 

"There's something bothering you, Sugar, and I want to know what it is." 

Phoebe did her best to swallow the lump that was rapidly forming in her throat. "I already told you... there's nothing wrong. I'm just...you know, tired. School's been hectic this week." 

"Well, it _is_ the end of the quarter, dear," said Mr. Heyerdahl, nibbling lightly on his steak sandwich. "She's probably feeling pretty swamped right now." 

"Okay, Sweety, if you're sure... I'm just concerned, you know." 

"I know. Thanks Mom..." She excused herself and walked outside, breathing deeply of the air. It still held its rain-washed scent from yesterday, and for that she was grateful. It was renewing. 

A car drove up. His grandpa. 

"Well hello there, Phoebe!" he exclaimed, stopping and rolling down a window. She stepped off the porch and walked slowly toward the car. 

"Hello," she answered, smiling. 

"How've you been lately?" he asked. "We hardly see you around the boarding house anymore... It's been months, now that I think about it." 

"Well, I've been really busy. Haven't had much time on my hands." So, apparently Arnold hadn't told his grandparents what had happened. That made her feel a little better; at least he was avoiding being forthcoming about things, too. 

"That's a shame. Arnold's been cooped up for too long. Are you going to the prom? Oh wait, I forgot, he's going with that little ugly girl... you know, your friend... what's her name?" 

"Helga," Phoebe answered. 

"Yeah, that's right. Boy, it sure is nice of you to let him do that. Probably means a lot to an ugly girl like her to get to go to the prom." 

Phoebe shrugged. "Well, she is looking forward to it." 

"So, are you going with someone? Planning on switching dates when you get there, or what?" 

She swallowed. "Y-yeah, something like that," she said, adding yet another lie to her growing list. 

"Well, you take care. Hope to see you around again sometime soon." 

"Bye," she said, waving as he drove away. She sighed, then realized she was biting her lip. At least she hadn't drawn blood yet. 

... 

_I'll kill her. I'll kill her. I'll kill her. I'll kill her. I'll kill her. _

Had to get that out of my system. I couldn't really kill her. But I want to. Man, do I want to. 

How much betrayal can you possibly manage against one person? The one thing that I absolutely needed her to be faithful with, her knowledge of my feelings for him, that one thing... she couldn't do it. 

They don't seem like a very good match, anyway. I would've been better. 

And now his heart can never truly be all mine. Part of him belongs to Phoebe now, and I'll never get that part for myself. It's too late. He's no longer the complete masterpiece I thought he was. 

I don't blame him at all. He couldn't have known. Phoebe moved in for the kill long before I got up the nerve. It's more my fault than anything. 

But she could've said no. 

... 

Dear Thomas, 

I don't know how to begin. I don't know what I can say that can ease your pain. I don't think there's anything I can do to undo what I've done.  
You hate me. I don't blame you for that. I deserve your hatred. I deserve worse.   
I didn't want it this way. I know what I said to you, and I know you're probably still hearing those words, even now as you read this. But I didn't mean it.   
It's so hard for me to do this. I need you to know how I feel, but at the same time, I need to work out my own feelings. I'm a mess. I want to be with you, so badly that it hurts. But my parents are all that I had ever known. And being away from them, having them hate me like that... It was too much.   
I'll understand if you never want to see me again. If the hurt has run so deeply that you never want to hear my name spoken again. If you wake up every day, glad that I'm no longer in your life, bringing you pain.   
I understand. But I love you. I want to be with you. I just need some time. Please forgive me.

Love, 

Olga 

Night fell, just as it always did. But pain and heartache never sleep. They prowl, like lions. They prey on the hearts of those who are most vulnerable: those who don't know the difference between truth and fantasy. 

Helga lay awake in bed, her eyes fixated on the ceiling. Pain was at the foot of her bed, waiting for her to stop thinking about things, just so he could enter into her mind once again and cause that sick feeling in her stomach. She had been betrayed by her best friend. And it was the ultimate betrayal. 

Pain and betrayal go hand in hand. 

She heard the front door open. Curious, she got up and peeked out. She saw the dark silloutte of Olga there, framed in the doorway. She was standing on the very threshold of two different worlds: one, her parent's fantasy life, lived through her. The other, her own life, vast, unexplored, waiting to be discovered. 

"Olga?" Helga whispered, loudly enough to be heard. Olga's frame tensed, then turned slowly around. 

"What is it, Helga?" she whispered back, stepping into the house again. 

Helga crept down the stairs as quietly as she could. "What's wrong? Where are you going?" 

She sighed, putting an arm around Helga's shoulders. "I have to mail a letter." 

"It can't wait till tomorrow?" Helga asked, yawning. 

"No, it can't. Tomorrow there will be questions asked. If no one knows, no one can ask." 

Helga nodded her understanding. "Let me come with you." 

Olga paused, uncertain. Then, with a smile Helga could only barely see, she answered, "Yes. I'd appreciate the company." 

They rode in silence--they communicated with silence. Nothing needed to be said. But so much was said, just in the silence, that not all the words in the English language could possibly say. It spoke of an understanding, shared by both. And two different perspectives: one the betrayer, one the betrayed. 

And it spoke of a bond, that was growing stronger and stronger all the time. 


	5. Thursday

Peace that Passeth... 

Chapter 5: Thursday 

It was a brief message, only four words. But it confirmed her worst fears: "Phoebe. My house. Now." 

So she knew. So Arnold had told her. She knew it would happen eventually. She had only hoped it wouldn't happen so soon. 

Was she sorry? And if she wasn't, should she _say_ she was? 

... 

The pain had yet to even _begin_ to dissipate. It didn't surprise her. She'd never felt this bad before in her life. Her parents hated her, but that never bothered her much. She was treated like garbage at school, but she'd gotten along. But now, her _friend_ had betrayed her... this was important enough to get an ulcer about. 

_"You know, Helga, you shouldn't be too hard on her. For one thing, you never actually told Arnold you had feelings for him. How was he to know? It's not exactly fair of you to keep him to yourself, when he's not even yours."_

Olga had been right. But Helga was angry. 

... 

Phoebe grabbed something off the coat rack, calling something out to her mother as she did so. Her mother said something in response. Phoebe wasn't listening, though. 

She opened the door, and stepped outside, into somewhere. She carefully walked down something, like stairs, though she wasn't sure if they were really there. It didn't matter, anyway. 

She made her way down some street. She didn't know which one. She didn't care. 

There were things doing something along with her. People. Walking. She didn't pay attention. 

Then she stopped at something. It was red, it said "Stop" on it, in big letters. A stop sign. She didn't abide by its rule. 

Helga's house. 

She stepped up as close as she dared, looking at the mailbox. It was black, with a small red flag on the side. It came up to her waist. Opening it, she saw that there were exactly three letters in it, one from the electric company, one from the Office of Don Potter, governor, and another from Publisher's Clearing House, saying that Helga's family may have already won one million dollars. 

The steps were cold, gray, and chipped in places. The railing that led up along side of it was black, and rusty. Her front door had a knocker on it, and the door itself was grayish-blue. There was a peep-hole in it, about eye-level. She rang the doorbell, which was white and circular. 

Bob opened the door. "Hey, Phoebe. Helga's upstairs." 

He stepped back, allowing her in. She walked upstairs. She knocked. 

... 

"And...?" 

That was the first word to come from Helga's mouth as Phoebe stepped into her room. Helga was decked out in a beautiful prom gown, standing in front of the mirror. 

"What do you think?" she asked, not looking at her friend, but sounding all the more demanding in her question. 

"It... it looks great on you, Helga!" Phoebe said, smiling slightly, though Helga still wasn't looking at her. 

"Yeah, I think it looks pretty good. I'm glad Bob forked over the cash for it..." She paused, and then her voice took on a more menacing tone. "So, why did you do it?" 

Phoebe's lip began to bleed. She'd been biting it _really_ hard, harder than she ever had, she imagined. She wiped at the blood furiously, but it kept coming. Helga still wasn't looking at her. She reached over to Helga's dresser and grabbed a handful of tissue, holding them down on her lip. 

Helga grabbed a comb and began to go at her hair again. "I'm not happy with my hair at all. It never does what I want it to do. And tomorrow's going to be _really_ special, so I want to look my best. What should I do with it? Should I wear it up, or down?" 

Phoebe shrugged, tasting her blood. It wasn't good. She disliked the taste of blood. It was bad-tasting. To her. 

"You know, I trusted you. And you lied to me. A lot. And you ..." Helga trailed off, still not looking at Phoebe, still messing with her hair. 

She grabbed a hair tie and did her hair up. Then, satisfied--for the time being--she grabbed for her makeup. 

"Yeah, up's good. Unless I change my mind later." 

Phoebe wasn't sure when she started to see things fuzzy. It might have been a few minutes ago. It might have just happened. But things looked fuzzy, or hazy. Weird. And her lip was still bleeding. A lot. She really didn't like how her blood tasted. 

"You know, I'm actually pretty angry. In fact, I don't think I've _ever_ been angrier. I'm used to betrayal; I get it all the time. But not from you. Never from you. You're Phoebe. You're good. You're a genius, you care about people's feelings. Right?" 

Helga did her best to put her lipstick on straight, though her hands were shaking. Finished, she set it down, and grabbed her eye liner. She'd never worn the stuff before, but she thought she'd try it. 

"You haven't answered any of my questions yet." 

Phoebe was crying. The tears mingled with the blood in her mouth, and added a nasty saltiness to the already nasty taste of the blood. She was going to be sick, she was sure. 

"So, what's going on? Why did you do it?" 

Helga turned, facing her friend for the first time. She saw her condition; Phoebe was falling apart. Emotionally, physically--there was blood running down her chin. 

"So?" 

"I..." she began, holding back a heave. Her stomach gurgled in protest, but she wasn't about to let it have its way. 

"You what?" 

"I..." Again, she couldn't finish. And her stomach again tried to spill its contents on Helga's floor. Again, she didn't let it. It gurgled some more. 

"Out with it, Phoebe!" Helga exclaimed, her eyes growing cold and hard, her fists clenched. 

"I'm not sorry." 

There was utter silence for several moments, neither believing what had just been said. 

Finally, Helga broke the silence, and grabbed the girl by the shoulders. She shook her--hard. 

"What do you _mean_, you're not sorry?! Of course you're sorry! You betrayed me! You took the love of my life from me! You _knew_ how I felt about him! You _knew_ everything! Of _course_ you're sorry! 

Phoebe was crying, and she was fearing that she was, indeed, about to throw up. But she laughed, and continued. 

"No, Helga," she said, laughing, crying, bleeding. "I'm not sorry. And you know why? Because you had it coming to you. That's why." She continued to laugh a little, bitterly. 

"What?! What do you mean, I had it coming to me? I thought we were friends!" 

"Heh. Friends. Yeah. I was your gopher, Helga, don't give me that crap. I did everything for you, I took all your falls, I listened to your _constant_ griping about _everything_. And what did I get in return? Nothing. Nothing good, anyway. I got jeering, and coldness, and ... and ..." 

Helga's cheeks began to burn. She wasn't sure why. 

"You know what? I hate you. I've hated you for three years now. But I felt sorry for you; that's why I hung around." She paused, throwing the bloody tissues aside. Her lip had stopped bleeding. "And then, just when I find someone who loves me, who cares about me, who's willing to give me a chance and treat me like a _human being_, I'm supposed to say 'No, sorry, can't be with you, _Helga_ loves you?' No, uh uh, that's not the way it works." She paused yet again, wiping her tears and her nose simultaneously. "I'm not sorry. You deserve whatever _"heartache"_ you think you're experiencing. _I_ deserve better; I gave him up for you, Helga! I could've had him forever! We could've been married, had kids, had a wonderful life--together! And I gave him up for you!" 

Helga was speechless. Speechless, but enraged. She pushed Phoebe as hard as she could, right out the door. Phoebe flipped over, down the stairs, and landed with a _thud_ next to the bookshelf. 

The next thing Helga knew, she was in an ambulance, next to Phoebe, holding her hand as she lay there, unconscious, her face pale. 

... 

"It's just a minor concussion. She can go home. But make sure she gets a lot of rest." 

Helga was unable to see her. She _couldn't_, not after what she'd done. She left soon after they arrived, hitching a ride home from a passing policeman. 

She sat in her room, terrified. She could have _killed_ her. Even if Phoebe wasn't _really_ a friend, and even if Phoebe had betrayed her, it didn't excuse what she'd done. She could have _killed_ her. 

Arnold called. He was sounding genuinely excited about the prom. She had been, up until recently. But she put on a good show, hoping that things would work out. 

"So, where do you want to go to eat? I mean, like I said, I can't afford a lot... but I got the tickets. It's nice, school being out the past couple days. I've had a lot of time to get stuff done. I picked up my tux tonight." 

"Hmm, you did, eh? How's it look?" 

"Well, modesty requires that I say something like, 'It will suffice.' You know, I'm just a modest guy." 

She laughed, the sighed. "Okay, so what time did you want to come pick me up tomorrow?" 

"Sevenish sound okay? I don't wanna give an exact time, you know, in case I'm late getting out there... Gerald's car isn't very reliable, and ... you know." 

"Yeah, that's fine. Who's he going with, anyway?" 

"Alison Finch. You know her?" 

"Actually, I just met her the other day, whenever our last day of school was for this week... Tuesday?" 

"Yeah, that's right. That's cool, then, you guys are already acquainted. So, I've gotta go eat, but I'll talk to you tomorrow? You want me to call sometime in the afternoon? You know, just to talk or whatever?" 

"W-well, yeah, sure, that sounds good. Talk to you then!" 

"Bye!" 

"Bye!" 

Helga ran to the bathroom and threw up. 

... 

"So, what time am I coming by tomorrow, then?" Gerald asked, picking his teeth. He had been over at Arnold's all day, and had listened to one half of the Helga/Arnold conversation with quite a bit of amusement. 

"6:45, at the latest. We need to get over to Helga's by 7:00." 

"Yeah man... you don't wanna be late." Gerald did a poor job conceiling a snicker, then burst into laughter. 

Arnold laughed a little, though not for the same reason Gerald was. "Hey, relax, man. Helga's okay. I mean, she's not exactly a Phoebe, but... who knows. Maybe..." 

"Whoa, whoa, Arnold! Step back! I thought Phoebe was supposed to be your one and only!" 

Arnold sighed. "I thought that. But... after the way she treated me... was so ashamed of me all the time... I couldn't go on like that. It was too much. I mean, you're the only other person that knows. Well, Helga knows now, too..." 

"What?! She does?! You told her?!" 

He shrugged. "Yeah, it kinda slipped out. She's really easy to talk to now. I don't know, I just let my guard down." 

"Man alive," Gerald breathed. "You don't know how serious this is." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"Look, Phoebe told me something once, and I swore on a stack of Bibles--_literally_--that I would never tell you or another living soul. But now that the cats out of the bag, you should know." 

"Don't leave me hanging," Arnold replied, an eyebrow raised questioningly. 

"Helga has been absolutely in _love_ with you for years. Since pre-school or something like that. It's kinda crazy-sounding, but that's the truth. And... man, if you'd known..." 

"You mean, Phoebe... didn't want _Helga_ to find out about us? That was the reason everything was so secretive?" 

"I guess so. That must be it... I never really put two and two together... I should've seen it." 

Arnold sighed, then shrugged. "It doesn't matter anymore. We're done. If I'm not important enough that she can't ... you know, let Helga down and tell her the truth, then she's not the type of person I want to be with." 

"You still miss her, though, right?" 

Silence. Then, "Yeah, I guess I do. A lot. But ... I need to get over it, move on. You know? There's too much hurt there to go back and try again." 

"Maybe... man, this stinks, doesn't it?" 

"Yeah, it really does." 

... 

Olga was gone that evening. She got in her car, drove away without a word to anyone, and didn't come back or even call. 

Bob found the letter in her room. It was dated three days ago. It said: 

Dear Olga, 

This letter is not to make you feel bad. It is to say goodbye.   
I cannot go on like this anymore. I'm in too much pain. It hurts to think about you. It hurts to think, period.   
I hoped I would hear from you, to tell me that this had all been a big mistake, that you still loved me, and that I didn't need to go through with this. But I do.   
I still love you, Olga. I'll always love you. But I can't take this anymore. Living without you isn't living to me. 

Love, 

Thomas 

Bob and Miriam were out looking for her all night. Helga sat in her room, crying and eating cookies. It was a bad night. 


	6. Friday

Peace that Passeth... 

Chapter 6: Friday 

_Peace that passeth all understanding... _

The most important commandment is this: that you love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind. A second is like it: that you love your neighbor as yourself. 

_Drip_

She could barely hear what was being said, but she didn't care too much, anyway. 

"I just think that it couldn't have been an accident! I mean, kids fight. Maybe it got out of hand. You should've seen the look on her face when she left. She was so pale, I knew something had to be wrong." 

_Drip_

The faucet was leaking. It was just a few feet away, in her bathroom. She wished someone would tighten the faucet. 

"Dear, there's no telling what happened. She says she doesn't remember, and Helga didn't say anything about a fight, so why don't we just leave it at that?" 

_Drip_

Peace that passeth all understanding. Peace. That's what she wanted. Stupid faucet. Shut up. 

"Well, regardless, I think we need to sit down with Helga, find out what happened. We won't blame her or anything, just tell her we want to know what happened." 

_Drip_

It was too bright outside. She didn't want it to be bright. She wanted darkness. Darkness to hide her. Darkness to cover what she was thinking. 

"Fine, we'll sit down with her. Tomorrow, though. Tonight's the prom, remember. She won't be home this evening." 

_Drip_

The prom? That's right. The prom. Tonight. The prom. She wished the faucet would stop dripping. 

"That's true. Well, either way, I'll call her. Ask her to come over tomorrow. It'll be good for Phoebe to have company, don't you think? I don't think she asked anyone to the prom. I wish she'd get out there and started shopping around a little, don't you?" 

_Drip_

She stood, grabbed a rod from her headboard, and proceeded to smash the faucet. Water sprayed everywhere, drenching her. She stood still, enjoying the feeling. She barely noticed as she was dragged away. 

... 

"Gerald told me that... well, he told me that I shouldn't have said anything about me and Phoebe... I mean, I honestly didn't know anything. She only told him because, apparently, he knew anyway. But he kept it a secret. Until now. It's too late, anyway." 

Helga sighed. She couldn't be mad at Phoebe anymore. She was in the wrong. She had come to understand this fact last night, as she lay, tormented, in bed. 

"Don't worry about it, Arnold. I should've told you myself. I should've been bigger about it. Phoebe deserves better than the way I've treated her. I'm sorry for dragging you into all this." 

"I don't feel like I've been dragged into anything. It's my own life, in any case. I doubt _you'd_ make me keep a relationship a secret. ... I mean, that is ..." 

"I know what you mean. I'm not expecting you to fall head-over-heels in love with me, just because I'm head-over-heels in love with..." She cut herself off, but it was too late. There was an awkward silence, followed by yet more awkward silence. 

Arnold broke it with a cough. "Anyway, so I'll be there around seven, okay?" 

"Yeah, that's fine. And where are we eating? I think we keep accidentally dropping that subject." 

"What sounds good?" 

"Erickson's is really good. See if Gerald minds going there." 

"Aren't they a little on the... expensive side?" 

"Don't worry. I've got it covered. I'll pay for you, you pay for me. So you can order whatever you want, okay?" 

"Thanks, Helga. We'll see. But Erickson's sounds good. Alright, well, I'll see you tonight." 

"Bye." 

"Bye." 

She needed to talk to Phoebe. But what could she say? There was nothing she could ever say that would make up for the way she'd acted, and what she'd done. She didn't _expect_ Phoebe to forgive her. 

Regardless, she needed to say she was sorry. Then, and only then, could she move on. With Arnold? Maybe. Hopefully. 

... 

"She's home! Thank God, she's home!" Bob ran out the front door as fast as he could, literally knocking it off the top hinge. Miriam followed, and then Helga. 

Olga opened her door, slowly, deliberately. She stood in much the same manner. And she glared at her parents, as hatefully as was humanly possible. 

"You know what? I loved him. Did you know that? I loved him a lot. More than you. More than life. And you know what? I _still_ chose you over him. And now he's dead. Did you hear they found his body, hunched over his desk? He'd slit his wrists. They were kind enough to let me identify him. At least I got to see him one last time." 

They were dumbfounded. She'd never talked to them like this before. Finally, Bob spoke. 

"Sweetheart, we were only looking out for your... well-being. I mean, you've got to understand where we're coming from. We have high hopes for you, and..." 

"And _he_ wasn't a comfortable enough fit for you, was he? I should've known better. You're not even human; you don't know what love feels like! Just look at the way you treat Helga!" 

Helga nearly fell over, she was so shocked. Bob and Miriam turned to face her, and she promptly turned her gaze to her feet. 

"Now we _both_ hate you. It's unanimous." Olga stomped into the house, slamming the door as she did. Helga was about to follow her, then thought better. She needed to give Olga some time to herself. She'd be better able to talk later. 

Helga ran upstairs, nearly as devastated as Olga. She'd never met Thomas, but if she knew anything about Olga, she bet he was wonderful. And he must've really loved her, too. 

She needed something to take her mind off of things. So she decided to call Phoebe; apologize, try to make things right again. 

"Hello? Hi, this is Helga. Is Phoebe there? Can she talk?" 

Her mother sighed, sounding strangely disappointed. "No, I was just about to call and ask if she was there. We can't find her anywhere! She must've snuck out while we were in the backyard... I'm worried sick. She was really disturbed this morning. She broke her faucet with a ... Well, suffice it to say, something's very wrong with her. I think something may have happened when she fell down the stairs." 

"Gosh, that's weird. That's totally not like her. She's usually so reserved... and considerate." 

"I know. Look, Helga, will you call us and let us know if you hear anything?" 

"Definitely. Bye." 

Now here was another problem. Phoebe probably ran off because she was so upset. And this was all Helga's fault. She decided the best idea was to go out and look for her. 

Bob stopped her before she could get out the door. Miriam was standing next to him. 

"H-Helga...?" he asked, trying to avoid making eye contact with her. "Can we talk to you for a minute?" 

"What is it, Bob? Phoebe's missing, I need to go find her." 

"O-oh, okay. We can talk to you later." They stood aside and Helga threw the door open, nearly tripping over the threshold in her haste. 

And she returned home at 3:00, defeated. Phoebe wasn't at the park, she wasn't at school, she was nowhere to be found. Helga was still worried, but she knew Phoebe was a big girl. She could take care of herself. 

But what if there _was_ something seriously wrong with her? She didn't normally act this way. 

... 

Seven o' clock. Go time. 

She checked her face again. She was glad to see that she still had one, under all the makeup she'd put on. Actually, though, she had used relatively little, compared to a lot of girls. She wanted Arnold to see her the way she really looked. In all honesty, she would've prefered to go without makeup, but she didn't want to be talked about. 

She had finally decided to leave her hair down. She'd probably regret this decision later, but it was a decision that needed to be made. Just as she was about to spaz and redo it, she heard a knock at the front door. 

Her mother opened it, apparently, as she was the one who came upstairs to tell her. "He's here, Sweety," she said, then shut the door again. 

She wondered if it would be good etiquette to keep him waiting for a few minutes. That was the common practice, wasn't it? Nah, she decided it was best to be herself. Even if she wasn't the greatest thing on two legs. 

Remembering her practice runs, she made her way slowly and (somewhat) gracefully down the stairs. Arnold was waiting at the bottom, smiling, though a little nervously. He looked great; she'd never seen anyone look better. She returned his smile and slapped him lightly on the shoulder. 

"Wow," she said, winking. He just laughed nervously, then said, "Wow yourself." 

Bob and Miriam were nowhere to be found, so she and he simply left, shutting the door silently behind them. Gerald and Alison were waiting in the car. Alison was in the front seat, which left Arnold and Helga the back. He opened the door for her, awkwardly, then sat next to her. 

"'Bout time. So, Erickson's, then?" 

"Yeah, that's the plan. And I've got enough money for both of us, Helga. Grandpa gave it to me. Thanks anyway, though." 

She smiled. "Are you sure?" 

"Yeah, I'm sure. ... Besides, I'd be a pretty lame date if I made _you_ pay for _me_." 

"I wouldn't think so..." 

A look crossed his face, ever-so-briefly... he looked... happy? Flattered? She couldn't tell. Maybe it was her imagination. 

"Alright, if you two love-birds are done making googly-eyes back there, we're here." 

Arnold jokingly slapped Gerald on the back of the head, then climbed out, helping Helga to her feet as he did. 

"See, Arnold knows how to treat a lady," Alison said, as she stood to her feet and shut her door. 

"Aw, come on, Alison! I was on my way over there to open the door!" 

"Mmhmm. Anyway, so we'll see you guys after dinner then. By eight-thirty, right?" Alison asked, grabbing Gerald's wrist and checking his watch. 

"Yep. See you guys then, I guess," Arnold said, nervously. Perfect: she thought she'd have to share the conversation with the other two, but now she had him all to herself. This was going to be good. She hoped. 

The food was ordered, and the entrees had arrived. Helga reached over and grabbed one of his shrimp. "Yeah, looks like they gave you too many. I'll help you out." 

He laughed, playfully smacking her hand. "Shame." 

She joined him laughing, then sighed. 

"What?" he asked. 

"Oh, nothing," she answered, smiling. He smiled back at her. Just then, a thought crept up on her, overtaking her just as she was about to sip her soup. "Say, Arnold, can I ask you something?" 

He smiled. "Yeah, what's up?" 

"Did you... Are you only going with me... to get back at Phoebe? I mean, I'm not doubting your honesty or anything, I just want to make sure. It's... it's okay if you are. I'm just happy to be going..." She wanted to say 'with you' but she couldn't get the words out. 

He shrugged. "We broke up six months ago. It's time to move on, you know? She wasn't the one for me. I'm not bitter at her or anything. Angry, maybe, but not bitter." 

"I don't know if I see a difference," she said slowly, realizing she herself couldn't tell if she was angry or bitter. 

He picked at his shrimp a moment, then licked his lips. "I don't know... I guess I mean... that, like, I'm not thinking about her all the time, thinking about how much she hurt me. Sure, things pop up from time to time, but... I don't blame her. I understand now where she was coming from. I don't think it excuses it, but I'm not so hurt now that I know the truth." 

Helga nodded. "I guess I understand what you mean. ... I mean, I'm pretty angry at her right now... for obvious reasons... but... I mean, even knowing that she gave you up, for me, helps. It shows that, really, she _is_ my friend. I don't think anyone else would do something like that for me. At least, no one else ever has. 

"And she tried so hard to stop me from knowing. At least she was concerned about my feelings. She was just following her own, too. I'm sorry, Arnold. I mean, it's my fault that you broke up. It's my fault that things didn't work out." 

He was silent, turning this idea over in his mind. Was it her fault? 

"Look, Helga," he said after a moment, "I don't blame you. You didn't know what was going on. If she really loved me, she wouldn't have had a problem telling you. She would've told the world. I broke up with her because... I felt like she was embarrassed to be seen around me. I know that isn't true, now, but still, if she really loved me...she would've told you." 

She nearly confessed that Phoebe did, indeed, really love him. She nearly told him about "Jeremy," and about the way she would talk about "him." But, selfishness taking control, she decided that, after all, loose lips sink ships. 

"Well, anyway, I'm glad we're here now," she said, trying not to sound too bubbly. "This may not mean much to you, but this is a dream come true for me." 

He raised his eyebrows, surprised, then smiled. "That does mean a lot to me. Thank you." 

She looked down at her plate, embarrassed. "Hey, Helga? Your face is red... did you... um, want something to wipe that off with?" 

It was a lame joke, but it was just what she needed to lighten the mood again. She laughed, then threw her (clean) napkin at him. 

"You're mean. And give me back my napkin." 

... 

It was noisy, but that, she supposed, was what dances were supposed to be like. The music was blaring, and none of it was any good. She commented about the choice in music, and Arnold said that everyone had overruled his sensible music choices. She laughed, then followed him into the gym. 

After awhile, Helga was simply to antsy to stand around. Boldly, she grabbed Arnold's hand. "Let's dance." 

It was a slow song. This was going _way_ to fast for him. He'd hoped they could, at least, jump around to some of the crazy hip hop first. Not that he particularly liked hip hop, but he prefered _anything_ to the idea of slow songs. 

And it wasn't that he had anything against Helga, either. He just had a definite, real fear of slow dances. It was crazy, and unfounded, he knew, but it was real nonetheless. 

However, he allowed himself to be dragged out, and awkwardly placed his hands around Helga's waist. She didn't seem to notice his goofy movements, as she was making plenty of her own. 

Finally, however, they got situated, and she held him close, unwilling to ever let him go again. 

But let him go she did, as she fell to the floor, in unimaginable pain. It took a minute for anyone other than Arnold to notice, and then screams began ringing out throughout the entire gymnasium. The music screeched to a stop, and security was hurrying to the center of it all. 

There, in Helga's back, was planted a knife, it's shiny surface reflecting the redness of Helga's blood. And standing there, her eyes closed, was the backstabber. Or maybe, the backstabbed. 


	7. Epilogue

Peace that Passeth... 

Epilogue 

"Sweety? Hey, your parents are here to see you." 

The nurse smiled, and Phoebe sighed. 

"I'll send them in. Hang on a sec." 

She waited, looking down at her white robe as she did. It wasn't nearly as white as she would've liked, she being the perfectionist that she was. It was... eggshell, maybe. Definitely not pure white. 

They entered, slowly, a few minutes later. They looked wary. 

Phoebe began to cry. "For God's sake, I'm not going to hurt you!" she exclaimed, throwing herself onto her bed. "I'm not crazy! I'm not violent! I'm just a kid, okay?!" 

Her mother rushed to the side of her bed. "Suga', we don't think you're crazy. And we know you're not going to hurt us. You're upset, is all, and we didn't want to disturb you." 

"I want to go home," she answered, wiping her eyes. 

"I know, Sweety, I know. We're doing our best. They're going to let you out soon. They just want to make sure that you didn't hurt yourself too bad... you know, when you fell." 

"I'm not stupid, Mom. I know why I'm here. It's not because I hit my head. It's because they think I'm crazy. And so do you." 

"No, we don't think that! We know you, Phoebe. You have a good head on your shoulders. But you've been under so much stress lately, that something went wrong inside of you. We just want to make sure you're going to be okay, before we throw you back out into the world." 

"Have you talked to Helga?" 

"Not in a week or so, no. Why?" 

"Does she hate me?" 

Silence. 

"I thought so." 

"Sweety, when she finds out the truth, she couldn't _possibly_ hate you. It's not like you remember any of it, right?" 

"I know. But still..." 

"Look, Sweety, you need your rest. We'll be by first thing tomorrow morning, hopefully to take you home. You're gonna be just fine, okay Sweety? We love you." 

She looked to her father, who stood by the door, silent, his arms folded across his chest. Somehow, without knowing, he _knew_. 

They left. Phoebe stood and walked to her window, which was barred. To keep crazy people like her inside. She thought about things. She thought about how she'd lied to her mother, to the prosecutor, to the judge, about not remembering what had happened. And she thought about the look on Helga's face as she hit the ground, a six-inch blade in her back. 

She hadn't wanted to do it. She hadn't even realized she was planning on it. And she nearly backed out of it, when she got to the dance. But then, when she saw her, with her arms around him, she lost control. 

What would happen? Would Helga forgive her? Would they... _could_ they ever be friends again? 

A tear rolled down her cheek. Another followed it. 

She reached into her pillowcase and took out a picture. It was of her and Arnold, when they'd gone skiing up in the mountains. They looked so happy together. And they had been. But that was over. Now there was no chance. 

Helga and Arnold would be together. She knew that much for certain. The first thing she would see, upon returning home, would be Helga and Arnold, walking hand-in-hand down the road. It was too much to think about. She hated herself. Even more, she hated her life. She wished she was dead. 

What could she do? 

She remembered the knife, then, for a brief instant, saw the shocked look on Helga's face again. It was a passing thought, but it chilled her. 

Her lip was bleeding. 


	8. Author's Notes

Author's Notes... 

_Note: This might get long; if I start to put you to sleep, then, for heaven's sake, go read some stories! End note._

Well, there's another one. I think I'm starting to get the hang of this fanfiction thing (meaning, I actually _enjoy_ doing it now.) 

Another "cliffhanger" ending? I've had a couple people ask me if it is, and if there's a sequel on the way. I'm happy to say that, no, there is no sequel planned. There really shouldn't be one, I think. Helga's not dead; I tried to make that clear when I had Phoebe ask her mother if she'd talked to Helga. And the fact that she's worried that Helga might hate her. 

Phoebe is one of the most level-headed characters I've ever seen in a cartoon; as such, I thought it would be interesting to play with her character a little, give her some conflicts, and see what would happen. I decided not to go with the "Phoebe and Gerald" thing from the very beginning. Why? I don't know, I just don't see them together. Maybe they had crushes on each other in fourth grade, but so what? How often does something like that carry over to high school? 

The "Phoebe and Arnold" idea was a spur-of-the-moment thing. It was the perfect opportunity to set up a Helga/Phoebe conflict. After all, they don't really fight about much, as Phoebe usually just sits idly by and lets Helga have her way about everything. 

If Phoebe was going to break out and be a central figure, I needed to cause strain between her and the person who holds her back. And the idea that she and Arnold could be exes really pushed that forward. 

Why Phoebe and Arnold? I don't know, I guess I've always thought they had a lot in common. I've always thought it was strange that _no one_ else writes about the possibility of those two kids hooking up. 

Olga is another story altogether. I may have used a rather cliche conflict (her being forced to be her parents' puppet), but I like to think that I went about it in a somewhat original way. And if I haven't, and if I inadvertently stole somebody's idea, feel free to flame me. 

I decided to write Olga as a weak person. She does everything well, and she's the focal point of her parents' lives. While this would normally be considered a good thing, I thought that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't happy with the idea. Throwing in the idea of a husband, unaccepted by her parents and their "idea" of what her life should be like, was a good way to reveal her innate weaknesses. She appeals to everyone, and by doing so, she loses her individuality. She's a lot like boy-bands: they're manufactured specifically to appeal to the masses, but in doing so they lose anything resembling a unique sound. 

Let's see, who haven't I covered? Oh right, the cover-boy and girl themselves. I'll start with Arnold: 

What's there to say that hasn't already been said? He's a great guy, really nice, listens to other people's problems and gives good advice. He _always_ thinks of others first. Sound a little inhuman? Well, in any case, he's not a perfect person. People made comments like "Arnold's been acting like a jerk; why shouldn't he want to take Helga to the dance?", things along those lines. Well, let me explain: 

She was a rotten sod to him all throughout grade school. Now, I'm sorry, but I personally would find it very hard to have feelings for someone who treated me like that for so long. Regardless of whether she "changed" or not, that hurt would remain. And that hurt was the source of his reservations. 

And finally, Helga. Complex, so I'll simplify: She's still a jerk. True, she loves Arnold with all her heart, and she wants to be with him more than anything. But she wants to be happy more than she desires happiness for anyone else, even him. She would rather Phoebe be miserable and lonely than have to suffer the same fate herself. In this, she is probably the most human out of the bunch. I've always felt that about Helga, as a matter of fact. 

In the end, she realizes she was wrong. Phoebe deserved better than the way she'd treated her. But it was too late to make amends, as Phoebe had already been pushed beyond the breaking point. 

Ultimately, I'm more satisfied with this story than my previous one (two, technically, though I consider them one.) Let me know what you think, at lambogod@hotmail.com. I'll be happy to answer any questions, and I'd _love_ a good critique or two. And by good, I mean well-done, not favorable. If you didn't like something, hit me with it. If you liked something, let me know. 

Thanks a lot for reading, and keep writing! 

Branden 


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